The Furies of Rome by Robert Fabbri Read Free Book Online Page B

the other side of a gully, on the far side.
    ‘The last time that we were both here together,’ Sabinus said, bringing his mount to a halt next to him, ‘I had to save you from being strangled to death by a mule thief, you little shit.’
    Vespasian laughed at the title by which Sabinus used to address him in youth and cast his mind back to that time when the brothers had, with the help of Pallo and six of their father’s freedmen, ambushed and killed a band of runaway slaves who had been stealing mules from the estate. It had been the day after Sabinus had returned from his four years as a military tribune serving with the VIIII Hispana in Pannonia and Africa and it was probably the incident that had begun the siblings’ journey from mutual detestation to mutual respect. It had also been the day after he had overheard his parents mentioning the prophecy made at his naming ceremony.
    Whatever it was, it was a long time ago but the memory was still clear in Vespasian’s mind for it had been the first time that he had come close to death and would have died had it not been for his brother. ‘That’s where you crucified that boy,’ he said, pointing to an area of pasture, just to the right of the wood, in which they had hidden, waiting for the runaways to take the bait of tethered mules with seemingly no minders about.
    ‘Where we crucified the boy,’ Sabinus reminded him as Titus and Magnus joined them. ‘We all did it together; although I do remember you complaining that it was a waste of money crucifying what could be a hard-working field slave.’
    The terror on the boy’s face and the bestial screeches he had howled as the nails were hammered home had ingrained themselves on Vespasian’s memory; it had also been the first time he had witnessed an execution of that sort and, although the boy had been thoroughly deserving of his fate, Vespasian had tried to argue for his life as he had felt an empathy towards him because of their similar ages. However, Sabinus had insisted on the boy’s death and they had left him shrieking on the cross with the dead bodies of his comrades and mules beneath him; his cries had followed them most of the way home until they had been suddenly curtailed, most probably by friends finding him and putting him out of his misery.
    ‘I’ll let Castor and Pollux loose,’ Magnus said, dismounting and taking the leads, from a couple of mounted slaves, of two huge and sleek, black hunting hounds, broad shouldered, with almost square heads and sagging, dripping lips that barely concealed fearsome, yellow teeth.
    ‘They’ll be as useless as they were yesterday,’ Domitian stated with certainty as he looked down at the beasts from the back of his small pony that was barely taller than the dogs.
    Magnus ignored the remark as he rubbed Castor and Pollux’s flanks and lavished praise for their beauty upon them; the dogs responded with slimy licks and much tail wagging, evidently genuinely fond of their master. With a final scratch behind the ears of each of the beasts, Magnus detached their leads, slapped them both on their rumps and sent them lolloping across the hill towards the wood to do what they did best: hunt. Behind them the hunting party kicked their mounts into action and cantered after them with Magnus, having remounted, bringing up the rear with Domitian.
    Vespasian, with Titus and Sabinus to either side of him, gripped the flanks of his horse with his thighs, feeling the ease of its movements whilst enjoying the wind on his face; his mind was now off the funeral of his mother whose ashes were still too hot to collect. His bow and ash-shafted hunting-spear rattled in their holsters attached to the rear of his saddle and his cloak flapped behind him, pulling at his throat as he watched the two hounds disappear under the eaves of the wood with the two hunting slaves in close pursuit. He followed them in; moisture, collected on the naked branches, dripped down upon him as he slowed